


Pool Parties and Popcorn

by Cuppa_tea_love



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Angst, Daniel gets grumpy but we love him anyway, F/M, Gen, I tried to write plot but all I did was analyse everyone's feelings, No one talks or thinks this much in real life, Post-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-19 05:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16528589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuppa_tea_love/pseuds/Cuppa_tea_love
Summary: While convalescing at the Stark mansion, Jack finally pushes Daniel too farORPeggy and Daniel's fun day off





	Pool Parties and Popcorn

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Quo Vadis?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804475) by [Paeonia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paeonia/pseuds/Paeonia). 
  * Inspired by [Rabbit Punch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4948264) by [Sholio](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sholio/pseuds/Sholio). 



> Total newbie here, guys, so please be kind! I've had this bouncing around in my head for years, and reading other people's wonderful fics made me need to get it out of there. It started out as wondering what it would take for Jack and Daniel to have a moment where one of them actually opened up about something real, but it took a whole lot of bickering to get there, because blokes :D
> 
> Some credits:
> 
> Details of Daniel's recovery are from Paeonia's "Quo Vadis" (but my Daniel is angstier than hers, I'm afraid!). I had to invent a bit of his timeline, because it hasn't all been written yet :)  
> References to "Rabbit Punch" by Sholio, because it's the best.  
> I'm also assuming "Black Water Rising" by Sholio has happened, because a) they've had lots of other adventures in New York before Daniel left, and b) Daniel knows about Okinawa. But that's just in the background and there are no specifics.

Jack Thompson was not the friendliest person to be around, it had to be said.  He was not the one you turned to for a confidence boost or a cozy chat.  He was great for when you needed a shrewd mind and razor-sharp tactical instincts, but this always came with a side of his patented blend of swagger and scorn, which was so infuriating it made you wonder if all the skill in the world could really make it worth it.  But it was, of course it was.  Daniel and Peggy knew this.  And at the end of the day, Jack was one of them.

A convalescing Jack Thompson, however, was downright insufferable _._

Since being discharged from the hospital and grudgingly taking up residence in the Stark mansion, Jack had been sullen and waspish to everyone at the least provocation, refusing all offers of help and consequently making himself miserable with frustration.  Daniel had moved some overnight things into a guest bedroom a few days later, ostensibly to make it easier for them to work on the case till all hours of the night, but mostly to back Peggy up in keeping some sort of handle on Jack.  He’d had recurring visions of Jack possibly reducing poor Mrs Jarvis to tears if he was there for too long.  Peggy would probably scold him for thinking it, but there it was.  Even Mr Jarvis’s polite exterior could no doubt be stretched to breaking point with sufficient provocation.  After everything the couple had been through with Ana’s shooting, and as they’d kindly taken Jack in without a moment’s hesitation (well, technically Stark had, though of course the burden of hospitality largely fell to them), he was keen to make sure the atmosphere at the mansion didn’t become too unbearable for them.

By the end of the first week, he’d realised that it hadn’t been his brightest idea.

Far from easing the tension, Daniel seemed to bring out the worst in Jack.  He was, and always would be, Jack’s favourite verbal punching bag.  He didn’t know how it was, but the guy could push his buttons like no one else on earth.  Particularly delightful these days was how he managed to maintain his usual stream of digs aimed at Daniel’s injury, while simultaneously assuming an air of martyrdom regarding his own.  Daniel sighed and tried not to rise to the bait.  It was every bit as bad as those early days at the SSR, although with two years of water under the bridge he’d now seen Jack in some pretty unflattering situations, so he at least had plenty of ammo with which to retaliate.  He was no longer the bottom of the pecking order and he didn’t need to take Thompson’s crap, though for the sake of keeping the peace, he would try.

It all came to a head one day, when Daniel and Peggy, exhausted from running down leads night and day for weeks with little to show for it – as well as trying to hold together the skeleton staff of trustworthy agents remaining at the West Coast office with one hand, dealing with Vernon’s guys currently occupying their lockup (and trying to root out any others) with the other, and heck, if they had any hands left they were also desperately needing to re-staff the decimated ranks of the SSR,  _and_  try and hold the New York office together over the phone – had finally come so close to breaking point that Daniel insisted they were going to take a whole Sunday off.  The staffing matters could wait until Monday morning.  They were going around in circles on Jack’s case anyhow, and they needed to take a step back so they could look at it with fresh eyes.  Peggy wouldn’t mention it, of course, but Daniel knew that pushing through her rebar injury to work these inhuman hours had left her physically drained, and he was well aware he’d pushed his own body beyond reasonable limits, too.  He was determined that they would spend one day by Howard’s pool, relaxing and snoozing and enjoying the antics of Ana’s new Bernese Mountain Dog puppy.

They were an odd pool party.  None of them were keen for any actual swimming.  Jack was still healing from his injury, needing a cane to get around, so his chest really couldn’t take the exertion.  Daniel had no interest in appearing legless in swimming shorts in front of everyone, least of all Thompson, and had muttered something about not being much of a swimmer, which fooled no one.  (Jack took that opportunity to helpfully point out that no one wanted to see a man swim in circles anyway.  The Jarvises looked uncomfortable and embarrassed, and Daniel thanked Jack coolly for his enlightening opinion before stalking out towards the pool with Peggy, scowling.)  Mr Jarvis, of course, would start his own flamingo farm before appearing in swim attire in front of Mr Stark’s guests, and as Howard himself was tinkering away in the lab deep in a creative frenzy, that only left Peggy and Ana. Though both of their injuries had healed up enough to permit a swim, neither of them much fancied it if it was just the two of them, with the others all looking on.  

Everyone just lounged under sun umbrellas instead.  Ana was crocheting.  Peggy and Daniel both had books - Peggy had little interest in hers and had tried to bring some case files outside, but Daniel had forbidden it.  She had put up a token gesture of defiance at that, but in all honesty she was so fatigued she expected she’d drop off before she got through the first page.  Jarvis brought round cocktails and snacks, then sat with his wife and attempted some rudimentary fetch practice with the puppy.  Jack grumbled that cold drinks didn’t stay cold for very long in this infernal California heat, and Daniel told him sharply to shut it.  He reached for Peggy’s hand and closed his eyes.  It was going to be hard to relax with Thompson grating on his nerves.  Peggy squeezed his hand in solidarity.  She was wearing a summery dress and the red sunglasses that made her look like a film star. 

“This is going to be heavenly,” she sighed.

Daniel laughed.  “Never thought I’d see the day when you’d willingly relax,” he teased.

“I’m just happy either of you can relax, knowing my killer’s still out there,” said Jack, cheerfully.

“You’re not dead, Jack,” retorted Daniel through gritted teeth.  

“Well, let’s just keep it that way.  It’s nice to have my favourite little protection detail glued to my side for a whole day for a change.”

“You want us chasing down leads or you want us here, Thompson?  You can’t have both,” snapped Daniel.

“I just like to know that you’re taking this whole thing real seriously, is all."

Daniel wished he could get up and swap seats with Peggy so that she was in between them, but he could hardly make an issue of it now.  He wanted her to get some sleep:  she’d earned it.  “Thompson,” he said firmly.  “You can sit by this pool any day of the week and be a pain in the ass on your own.  We are taking one day off to rest.  You can go be a pain in the ass inside, or you can stay and be a pain in the ass  _quietly_  out here.  It’s up to you.”

“Well, we all know nothing gets between you and your vacation, Sousa,” drawled Jack, idly leafing through a newspaper.  “Bet it was real nice to sit back with your feet up while the rest of us finished winning the war.”

Everyone knew instantly he had gone too far.  There was a shocked silence.  Daniel could feel the Jarvises look up in astonishment, and Peggy stiffen at his side.  What the  _hell_  was that supposed to mean?  A  _vacation_ , having his femur and his world shattered in one hit?  This from the guy who'd clawed his way up to glory over the dead bodies of innocent men?  A shaking rage filled him and blood started pounding in his ears.  That was beyond their usual bickering – that was  _low_.  Before he knew it, he was scrambling out of his deck chair and heading for Thompson, his fist raised...

Peggy anticipated what was coming the moment Daniel’s hand let go of hers.  She only made it round in time because it took him longer to get to his feet.  “Daniel!” she cried, throwing herself between them and catching his fist before he had a chance to use it.  She stood between them, wrestling him back by the shoulders.  “He’s got a chest wound, you’ll kill him!” she hissed.  With a surreptitious glance over Daniel’s shoulder, Peggy sent the Jarvises tactfully retreating inside the house.  “Take a walk, Agent!” she ordered him sharply.

Jack laughed from behind her.  “You do realise you just demoted him, Carter?  We both outrank you, you know!”

“Not in this house,” Peggy declared.  “And that’s quite enough from  _you_ ,” she spat at Jack.  She turned back to Daniel, who was no longer struggling against her, though his internal struggle was evident.  “Take a walk, Daniel,” she repeated, quietly but firmly.  “Find something to punch that won’t break.”

Daniel locked eyes with her and tried to regain himself.  He saw no judgement or disdain in her gaze, only unwavering command of the situation.  At the smallest encouraging nod of her head, he yielded and sank back onto his deck chair to retrieve his crutch from the far side.  Retreat rankled a little, but she was right.  It was unsporting to kick a man while he was down, however much he deserved it.  He picked himself up again and turned to Thompson, contempt for the man electrifying every bone in his body.  “You utter bastard, Jack,” he muttered as he stormed away.

Peggy watched him go and sighed.  So this was how today was going to go now.  Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later.  She turned to Jack and saw him smirking defiantly, reaching for his cane as though to get up.  She sat on the edge of his deck chair and poked two fingers of one hand into his chest - not right on his healing wound (she wasn’t a monster), but close enough to draw a hiss from his lips as he sank back submissively into the deck chair.  She might as well have knocked him to the ground and held a three-inch heel to his throat.  “Don’t even think about moving,” she ordered.

“You think Sousa wants you fighting his battles for him, Marge?” scoffed Jack, trying to sound tougher than he felt right now.  “What, you send him packing while you defend his honour?”

“Of course not,” replied Peggy evenly.  “If you weren’t injured, I wouldn’t have intervened.  You’ve had it coming for a while now and you know it.  No, Daniel can speak for himself if he likes.  I’m only going to talk about  _you_.  What the bloody hell is wrong with you?”

Jack scowled.  “I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”

Peggy maintained the gentle but effective pressure on his chest.  “As you wisely observed to me once, I am neither your mother nor your nanny, and I will not referee the two of you if you are truly determined to tear each other apart,” she began.  “However, it can’t have escaped your attention that we are wearing ourselves to the bone for you, and if you had one iota of sense, you would realise that it’s not the best idea to push away the only people who are fighting in your corner, Jack!” She paused.  “I called you a good man that day at the rift, and I meant it, but if you wallow around here being the bastard you're afraid of being, just to  _spite_ me for believing in you, then heaven help you.”

Jack’s nerves quivered under her fierce gaze.  How did she always manage to see right through him?

“Now, for goodness’ sake, go and find Daniel, see if he's cooled off and apologise for being a prize idiot, so that I can get back to enjoying my well-earned day off as quickly as possible,” finished Peggy, in a voice that left no room for discussion.  Jack got up meekly when she offered her hand.  He’d hardly got a word in in his own defense, whatever that might have been.  But for all her claiming that she wasn’t his mother, he was certainly learning that life went easier if you just did as Peggy said.

***

Jack found Daniel in the downstairs gym.  Quite why Stark had a gym he wasn’t sure – perhaps it was only in honour of having Peggy to stay.  There wasn’t a lot of fancy equipment by Stark standards, but it was spacious and the floor was covered with padded mats for sparring.  Daniel was at a punching bag, his crutch leaning against a nearby pommel horse.  Of course he couldn’t achieve much in the way of footwork like that, but he certainly seemed to be relishing the opportunity to hit with both hands.  Not for the first time, it occurred to Jack – with that odd, involuntary mix of guilt and pity that he knew Daniel hated – how unfair it was that losing a leg had meant all but losing an arm as well, for most of the time.  An unexpected consequence, a bit like how you wouldn’t think being shot in the chest would make it so damned hard to walk.  Just getting to this room had left him horribly weak and shaky.  He could do with a punching bag himself some days, when the combination of pain, drugs and inaction was all too much.  If he could even raise his arms to face one, let alone hit it.  Which was sort of the point, really.  His foggy head must have been mulling over the irony of that, and the galling awareness that he was finding himself jealous of Daniel’s physical ability, because a self-deprecating chuckle escaped him, and Daniel paused ever so slightly in his boxing, though without ever lifting his eyes from the bag.

“You gonna stand there in the shadows all day and watch?” asked Daniel at last, after a few wordless minutes had passed.

“Maybe.  It’s been a while since we sparred together at Tony’s.  You’ve probably gotten sloppy.  Look at that footwork!”  He shook his head in feigned disappointment.  “It’s a bit wooden.”

“That supposed to be funny?” snapped Daniel.

Jack attempted an exasperated sigh, though he only got halfway through it before pain shot through his chest.  “Oh, come on – lighten up, Sousa!  Can’t you take a joke?”  He was attempting his usual confident smirk, but he felt sick inside.  What the hell  _was_ wrong with him?  He ran his hand over his face.  Apologies were not his strong suit.  Come to think of it, when was the last time he’d made one?

Daniel scowled and kept his gaze doggedly fixed on his workout.   _One – two – one – two._   He savoured the freedom from the crutch just for this moment, the wonderful open feeling in his chest as he swung his arms back and forth without it anchoring him to the floor.  His wide-legged stance allowed him some upper body movement without completely upsetting his balance, though the workout was still only half as relieving as it would have been with two working legs.  To get his whole body into it, moving gracefully and symmetrically, smoothly weaving kicks in with the punches, like he had done as a young man learning from Tony:  that might just be heaven.  What the hell did Thompson know about doing any sort of  _footwork_ with a hunk of wood for a leg?  Anger coiled in his stomach again.  “You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?” he said finally, still focussing straight ahead at his hands.

Jack took a long breath.  “Yeah, I know.  That was...uncalled for, Sousa.”  He meant it.  “But, look, you gotta know, convalescence is hell on earth...” he started, but Daniel cut him off with a dry laugh.

“You’re really gonna play that card with  _me_?” he scoffed.  “I promise you, anything you wanna whine about I can do you one better.  You know, we didn’t all get to convalesce rent-free in a  _mansion_ ,” (he punctuated the word with a jab at the punching bag), “Sleep in till  _ten_ and then laze about a  _pool_ side, getting served  _cocktails_ by your  _own_  –  _damn – butler_!”  He caught the bag and steadied himself against it while he caught his breath.  “We didn’t all get a houseful of people who gave a crap whether we lived or died.”  He hobbled over to his crutch with an unsteady gait and reached thirstily for the canteen he'd left with it.

Jack was looking uncomfortable.  “You’re right,” he scowled.  “Okay?  You’re right.  There, I said it.  You happy?”  Daniel just stood there, giving him an inscrutable look.  Fine, let him stand there on his high horse with his glorious sufferings, thought Jack, as he made his way to perch with relief on the vacated pommel.  No doubt Daniel had endured it all with the patience of a saint throughout.  He certainly never said a word about it, even when prompted.  Jack didn’t even know how long it took to recover from that sort of injury.  Had he been in a hospital the whole time?  It sounded like he must have been.  Was he even Stateside for all of it, or stashed away in France somewhere with bombs dropping on him?  Okay, he could probably admit that he didn’t have a lot to complain about.  But how was he supposed to know when Daniel was always so cagey about his past?  He tried a more conversational tack.  “So, how long were you – ” he began.

“Oh no,” Daniel laughed sharply.  “You don’t get to do that.”

“What?”

Daniel’s eyes narrowed.  “My injury is  _my_  private experience.  You think I’m going to hand you the keys to my own personal hell?"  He laughed darkly.  "I know full well it’ll get thrown back in my face the next time your martini isn’t cold enough for your delicate sensibilities!”  He turned to go.

“Oh, come off it, Sousa!” said Jack.  “Gee, you want us to do hugs and hand-holding instead?  Look, I’ll admit I was outta line today, but you’ve gotta not be so jumpy about a little friendly banter.  And you accuse me of having delicate sensibilities!”  He smiled feebly.

“Friendly...?”  Daniel laughed incredulously.  He took a deep breath, as though willing himself to enter into a painful discussion with an adamant four-year-old.  “Look, I’m willing to let that first year in the SSR slide.  You were an ass, but I get it.  I was an easy target, and you had your own personal hell to deal with.  But after all we’ve been through since then, how  _dare_  you mock my military service?  I lost more than you could  _possibly_ understand out there!” He glowered at Jack.  “And I don’t know if anything I did meant squat for the war, but that’s the lottery we all entered.  Tiny cogs in the great machine that chewed us up and spat us out, and you and I both know that shells and bullets don’t always care who's the best or the bravest.  You’re hardly in a position to claim otherwise.”  He jabbed a finger towards Jack’s chest.  “A hair this way or that, one step in a different direction, some Colonel up the line makes a different choice because of what he had for breakfast, and it’s you standing here without a leg instead of me, do you get that?  You think that makes you a better soldier than me?"  He was towering over Jack now, filled with a fury Jack hadn't seen in him since he'd inhaled Midnight Oil.  "You think it didn’t kill me not to see it through to the end?”

“Look, I never meant...”

“ _You think it didn’t kill me_  to watch guys like you bring it home, while we sat there in that hospital like a scrap yard of spare parts?  I’m telling ya, Thompson, you try one more time telling me it was a damn  _vacation_ and I’ll take an axe to your leg myself!”  His eyes were narrowed and deadly.

“All right,” said Jack, pushing himself up with his cane and past Daniel, out of the line of his righteous glare.  “All  _right_. I said I’m sorry, what do you want from me?”  Had he said it, in fact?  He couldn’t remember.

Daniel stormed past him, outstripping him easily for once.  “Go to hell, Thompson,” he spat as he left the room.

***

Daniel returned to his room and slammed the door.  He needed to shower after his workout.  That was a definite perk of staying at the Stark mansion:  even the guest bathrooms were equipped with showers.  Nothing but the latest and greatest.  He’d brought his shower stool from his own place, and a few other necessities for getting around comfortably on an extended visit.  Just another cheerful reality of his daily life now:  he would never again travel light.  Crutches, stools, bandages - the sheer bulk of equipment required to keep him functioning like a half-normal human being was ridiculous.  But such was life, and getting grumpy about it wouldn’t change it.  He was just in a foul mood because of Thompson.  He let the hot water stream over his face and tried to let his anger wash away with it.  Deep breaths.  Big stretch.  One step at a time, one hop at a time, it didn’t matter.  He would keep moving forward because that was all he could do.  He tried to divert his mind by thinking about details of the case, because if he wasn't careful he was about to start feeling real sorry for himself, and he didn’t want to spiral into that dark hole.  Not with everyone here.  Not when there was so much to do and so few people to do it.

After he dried and dressed, he managed to find Peggy without bumping into Thompson on the way.  With a tacit understanding that they needed to get away from the house, they walked in the extensive grounds and tried to be amused by Howard’s menagerie.  But their laughs were half-hearted.  Eventually Peggy said what was on their minds.

“So, I heard raised voices down there.  I hope you put Jack well and truly in his place?” she enquired, with forced levity.

“I think so,” replied Daniel wryly.

“Did you say what you needed to say, darling?”  Peggy had spent enough time around companies of men to know that they hardly ever said what was really important to each other, except in the passion of a fight.  It was infuriating, but that was how it was.  She knew that they would each find it easier to open up to her than to each other, and hopefully that would stop them both imploding in the meantime.

“Yeah," he sighed,  "and then some.”  Only everything he had bottled up inside him for two years.  He was already regretting it.  They sat down on a little bench nestled in the shrubbery, which was no doubt put there for private encounters when Stark was entertaining.  (Daniel tried not to think about it.)  “He’s still a bastard, though.”

“Agreed,” said Peggy firmly, with a quirky lift of the eyebrow. 

“What did you say to him after I left?”  He’d seen her finger-in-the-chest trick as he’d walked around the pool, and had taken a certain degree of vindictive pleasure in it. 

“Variations on the theme of what a bloody idiot he is,” replied Peggy lightly with a wave of her hand.  “I hope it goes without saying that I know, and you know, and even he knows, that what he said is absolutely not true?”  She searched his face earnestly.

“Yeah, of course.  There’s just only so much a guy can take, you know?  Especially when we’re running ourselves ragged for him.  Was it too much to ask for a quiet afternoon to relax for half a minute?”  He kicked the ground with his foot, then looked up at her bleakly.  “I dunno if I can stay here with him, Peg.  I really am gonna kill him one of these days.  These oughta be the happiest days of our lives, now we’re finally together.  I didn’t think staying in a luxury mansion with you would involve quite so much punching!”

Peggy laughed.  “Daniel, we're SSR agents:  I daresay whenever we go on holiday, we'll find something to punch!”

He joined in the laugh and let it fill him, welling up in his chest and relaxing every angry muscle.  It wasn’t really that funny, but he needed it.  He drank in the brightness of laughter in Peggy’s eyes and leaned in for a kiss.  He was still punch-drunk with the thrill of being allowed to steal these moments with her.  To hear her talking about going on holiday, as though their future together was already decided, made him giddy.

She took his hand in hers and looked serious again.  “What he said was unforgivable,” she said, “and, believe me, I’m furious at him, too.  But it’s your choice whether you want to forgive him all the same.”  Daniel looked up sharply.  She certainly knew how to cut to the heart of the matter.  “In a few weeks, he’ll be well enough to head back to New York.  You can easily just be colleagues who can’t stand each other but get the job done.  Or you can be friends who bicker a lot but trust each other with your lives.”  She smirked.  “To be honest, I could go either way some days.  I think we’ve both had our fill of invalid-Jack for this lifetime.”  Truer words, Agent Carter, truer words.  “But for what it’s worth, I think he needs us.  I expect we’re just about all he has left, except the job – which he can’t even do at the moment.  I don’t imagine the famed Thompson clan are going to be welcoming him with open arms after all this, do you?”

He knew she was right.  As ever.

But he was done thinking about Thompson for now.  After all, he  _was_ staying in a luxury mansion, on a beautiful day, with the woman of his dreams, and they’d made a real effort to carve out this day off.  “Hey Peggy,” he said suddenly, “One of these days, if there’s ever a moment when everyone’s out, d’you...d'you want to go swimming with me?”  He felt his face burning,  _dammit_.

Peggy brightened instantly.  “Of course!” she said.  “You’d really like to?  Do you like to swim?”

“I love it,” he confessed.  “We had access to a pool from the VA hospital, and it was the best thing in the world on the leg.  Soothing, you know.  Plus I can manoeuver about so easily in there with no crutch.”  He looked a little abashed.  “It’s been driving me crazy, looking at the pool every day and wanting to go in.  I had thought about sneaking down there at night, but didn’t think it was really my place.  And knowing my luck, I’d choose a night when someone else decided to take a late-night stroll.”

“Well, then, we absolutely must,” Peggy declared.  She was no fool:  she knew the significance of this request. Swimming meant swimming trunks.  It meant him trusting her with his deepest fear.  Trusting her to love him exactly as he was.  The thought warmed her heart and she brought his fingers to her lips with both her hands.  “I would love to go swimming with you, darling."  She smiled.  "I’m sure some day Jack will have a hospital appointment to which we can persuade Mr Jarvis to drive him.”

“Lucky Jarvis!” smirked Daniel.

***

They stayed in the garden for a little while longer, talking, laughing and kissing, until Daniel sighed that he really should go and apologise to Jarvis and Ana.  “Perhaps it’s best,” agreed Peggy.  She feigned a scandalised look:  “Brawling by the poolside, Chief?  Appalling!”

Daniel grimaced.  "At least I’m ‘Chief’ again, I see."

“When it suits me,” said Peggy demurely.

“Terrific.”

Peggy decided she would swim a little after all, now that the peanut gallery had dispersed.  She had worn her swimming costume underneath her dress just in case.  Daniel left her to it and found the Jarvises in their little kitchenette (they had their own modest quarters within the mansion).  Unsurprisingly, they waved away his apology and said not to mention it, assuring him that they knew what a stressful time it had been for everyone, that these things were bound to happen when a group of people lived in close quarters, and so forth.  Daniel still felt wretched about it, but there wasn’t much to say after that.  He thought he might return to sit by the pool while Peggy swam, but as he made his way back through the mansion, some noise coming from one of the smaller living areas caught his attention.  It was the slightly tinny sound of recorded voices.  Did Stark have a film projector?  It was fairly likely.  Daniel had rather lost his taste for movies after the Midnight Oil theatre incident – and chasing a homicidal leading lady around Hollywood that he'd drooled over in his youth hadn’t helped either – but as he got closer he realised it didn’t sound like a movie.  It sounded like sports commentary.

He peeked his head through the door.  Jack was sitting on a couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching a television.  Ah yes, Stark with the latest and greatest again.  “Is that baseball?” he asked, intrigued despite himself.

“Dodgers-Phillies,” Jack confirmed, without looking up.

“I’ve never been in a house with a television before,” said Daniel.  “Guess it pays to know a multi-millionaire, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it, pal,” replied Jack.  “He even has a fancy contraption to make the popcorn.”  He held out the bowl to Daniel.

“What'll he think of next?” muttered Daniel, but he took the conciliatory gesture and sat down on the couch to take a handful.  “This stuff isn’t going to give me radiation poisoning or anything, is it?”  He was only half joking.

“I haven’t died yet.”

They munched in silence, watching the screen.  It had been far too long since Daniel had been to a live game, though he caught them on the radio when he could.  This was so much better than the radio.  “We’ll have to be careful:  with this sort of entertainment on tap we might never leave the house!”  The comment was met with stony silence, Daniel’s earlier speech about Jack’s luxury convalescence hanging in the air.  He hadn’t meant it like that.  Damn.

“Did you play?” asked Jack suddenly.  “Before the war?”

“A bit, in high school.  You?”

“Nah.  Track and field was my thing.”  That figured.  Jack liked to be the fastest, strongest, best.  He wouldn’t have been drawn to team sports.  “You miss it?”

Daniel considered a brush-off answer, but what came out of his mouth turned out to be genuine.  “Not too bad.  How many of us keep up with our school sports after we leave, anyway?”  He gave a wry smile.  “I guess I don’t miss it as much as, you know, walking.” 

Jack nodded, still looking at the screen.  No quip, no asshole comment.  It was eerie, really, but Daniel took it as a peace offering.  Peggy was right:  you had to choose to trust people.  He gathered his courage.  This was about to be excruciating.  But Jack had been needling him for details of his injury for years to no avail, and maybe it hadn't just been to get a rise out of him.  Maybe he was genuinely interested.  It was the one thing he had to use as a peace offering of his own.  He took a deep breath.

“Ten months,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Ten months.  That’s how long I was convalescing.  Hit in December ’44, eight months in a VA hospital in Atlantic City, then two months in New York.  They transferred me there so I could start at the SSR, but I was commuting from the hospital to begin with.”

Jack gaped at him.  “I didn’t know that.”

Daniel figured he’d come this far, he might as well give the detail that had been on his mind most during their fight.  Still staring determinedly at the screen, he continued:  “I was in traction for the first few months.  Know what that is?”

“No,” said Jack warily.

“They rig the leg up to a pulley and a weight hanging from the ceiling.  Stretching the skin so that everything heals straight, basically.  Two hours on your back, two hours on your front, day and night.  Nurses wake you all night long to flip you over and hook you back up."  He didn't say how he'd lived for those brief moments of reprieve as they'd turned him, only to have the incessant tugging begin again, like a slow torture.  "Eleven weeks and three days I was in that damn contraption.”  Eleven weeks and three days of staring at the truncated limb hanging in the air and trying to believe it was part of him now.  

Jack didn’t seem to know what to say to this.  No wonder that comment about putting his feet up had touched a nerve.  “How long till you got the peg-leg?” he finally managed.

“’Bout another month.”

“Gee.”  They watched in silence a while longer, then:  “So, December ’44.  You made it real close to the end, huh?”

“Yep.  Real close.”

Now Robinson was stepping up to the plate.  He swung one strike, then another.  “Well, damn, Sousa you were right,” said Jack finally.  Daniel raised an eyebrow questioningly, and Jack smirked.  “You win!  Worst convalescence in history.”

The tension was broken.  “Yeah, and don’t you forget it!” replied Daniel. He snatched the bowl of popcorn to himself.

“Hey!  Give that back!”

“Sorry, this is winners’ popcorn only,” said Daniel thickly through a mouthful.

Jack groaned.  “Winner of the  _worst_  convalescence, Sousa.  The  _worst_  winner.”

“So I’ve got plenty to make up for now.”  Daniel settled right back into the couch with an exaggerated sigh of contentment, put his foot up on the coffee table, then lifted his artificial leg up onto it so they crossed at the ankles, all the while keeping a protective arm around the popcorn.

“And you’re really telling me in all that time, no one once brought you a martini?” asked Jack innocently.

“You know I’m keeping a running tally of how many punches I owe you once you’re better, right?”

“Like you could land 'em on me when I'm fighting fit!”

“Jack, you know I always beat you in the ring.”

“Well, don’t forget, I’m in the gimp club now.”  Jack poked Daniel right in the peg-leg with his cane.  “A few months of hobbling around with this thing and I’m gonna learn just how you think.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s exactly the same.”

“Hey, you turn your thing to your advantage.  How d’you know there isn’t some secret advantage to missing a chunk of lung?”

“Because I’m not a moron.”

“We-ell...”

“Shut up, Thompson.”

***

Peggy, meanwhile, had enjoyed her swim.  She hadn’t bothered with anything athletic, just a few lengths of gentle breaststroke.  It had been a much better idea than the workout she’d originally planned to do in Mr Jarvis’s little gym.  The swim had been remarkably refreshing, and she decided to make more of an effort to take a dip in the evenings when she was tired and worn after work.  Even better if Daniel would join her, she thought with a smile.  When she was done she went back into her room to change, and emerged feeling clean and bright and renewed.  She briefly popped down to the lab to check that Howard wasn’t planning on blowing up the world today, but, finding that Mr Jarvis was in attendance, quickly withdrew before she could get drawn in to be experimented on.  Back in the main house, she could hear Daniel and Jack’s voices and followed them, apprehensive as to what sort of scene she might find.  Their voices were coming from the television room.  She stood quietly outside the door, blatantly eavesdropping (spy habits were hard to break).  It sounded like they were bickering, and she braced herself.  Jack was making the usual sort of cripple dig, and Peggy groaned inwardly.  They were back to this.  She waited for Daniel to snap back at him, but to her surprise instead of angrily shutting Jack down, he responded with the sort of self-deprecating, light-hearted quip about his leg that he usually only employed around her.  This went back and forth a few times, and it really all sounded perfectly friendly.  Well, didn’t that just take the cake.  What on earth could have transpired in the last hour?

It sounded like they were watching a game of something, and as American sports weren’t really her thing, Peggy left them to it.  In any case, she had not the least intention of interrupting whatever astonishing miracle was taking place in there.  She made herself a pot of tea and sat down with it in an armchair where she could hear their general tone, but not their words.  They’d settled into a comfortable silence now, punctuated every now and then by cheering, groaning and shouting at the television.  She doubted they were enjoying their show half as much as she was hers.

Jack would be in their lives for a long time, she just knew it.  The three of them were a spectacular team, when they weren’t trying to kill each other.  It was funny how some people could clash with each other and break down as a team, while others clashed and were stronger for it.  Daniel and Samberly, for example, were never great in the field together.  Daniel would get frustrated within minutes, and Samberly seemed to fall to pieces while under the gaze of his Chief.  It was an authority thing as much as anything, Peggy was pretty sure.  The combination was dreadful, though she knew that in a more low-key team, Samberly was doing quite well at field work.  

She, Daniel and Jack, on the other hand, were a constant explosion of strong wills and quick wits, but it made them better.  On their own, she and Daniel were a seamless partnership.  Now that everything was out in the open and they weren’t spending half their energy trying not to be in love with each other, they read each other’s minds perfectly, respected their strengths and weaknesses, and leapt into the fray with an easy familiarity that positively thrilled her.  Not that they didn’t disagree and challenge each other, but they were finding their pattern.  Throw Jack into the mix and there would be a lot more arguing, but also a lot more power, a lot more charm and a lot more fun.  And though he loved to tease them as a couple, and even loved to boast that his clever matchmaking had brought the whole thing about, Peggy sensed that he was really going to be fiercely protective of them in a brotherly sort of way.  She ought to feel patronised by that, but she also knew that the closest Jack could come to seeing himself as a good man was to protect good people.  She wondered how his shooting was going to change him when he got back in the field.  Whatever it took, they would help him.  And wherever they all ended up in life – be it different cities or even different continents – she knew they would always be comrades when they got together.

This was the sort of thing that was really starting to excite her about her work, she reflected as she gathered up the teapot and dishes and took them to the kitchen.  Finding what brought out the best in people, driving them to be all that they could be.  Seeing partnerships grow that would become stronger and stronger over the years.  Figuring out why these people clicked and those people didn’t, and knowing just who to send into each situation.  Deepening loyalties and building elite teams that would be unstoppable.  It was a shame the hiring and training of new agents kept getting delayed by the case at the moment, because it was actually quite exciting to think that, as the Chief’s right hand woman, she could have a role in shaping the whole tone of the office.  She’d never had an opportunity like that before.  And Daniel, though he was a dedicated leader who naturally drew out the men’s loyalty and respect, had never quite had the instincts about people that she had.  (The one glaring exception to that assessment of herself was, of course, that time she and Daniel had woefully misunderstood each other for a whole year, but matters of the heart made fools of them all.)

The wonderful thing was that Daniel was open to hiring more female agents.  The men might joke that he was just doing it to keep his girl happy, but Peggy knew he was perfectly sincere.  She had always known that she brought something different to the table as a woman, and had often mused about how the war would have turned out if it had been run by women.  Sometimes she liked being treated as one of the boys, but at the end of the day she just saw the world a little differently to them, and that was one of her strengths.  Once the men in the New York office had stopped trying to head her off at every turn, they had seen that her different perspective made them a stronger team, and that was what it always came back to for her. 

Besides, the awful truth was that the male population was severely depleted since the war.  That meant that there were a lot of women who were never going to have the future that they’d spent their whole lives preparing for.  And it would be terrifying for them, and sad, and aimless, and perhaps she could help some of them find a new purpose for their lives that would surprise and challenge them more than they had ever dreamed.  She felt a tingle of anticipation at the thought.  Those women were out there, and she was going to find them.

She finished washing and drying her dishes, waving away Howard’s cook who offered to do it for her.  It was lovely having staff on hand, of course, but there was something cathartic about seeing a cup of tea through from opening the cupboard to closing it.  Walking back through the dining room, she spotted the files she had tried to take out to the poolside earlier.  They were sitting on the dining table, where Daniel had firmly placed them.  She rifled through until she found the one containing information on applicants that they had squeezed through rushed interviews already.  They could do this whole process much better, she realised.  She might ask Agent O’Malley, who was LA born and raised, to compile a list of likely companies and organisations in town for doing some headhunting.  And she and Rose might try and think of some places where her women might be found.  There must be some organisations for war widows, to start with.  A hundred ideas started buzzing around her head and she grabbed a pen and paper.

She smiled as she listened to the guffaws coming from the next room.  Daniel had been right, she thought.  As ever.  All she’d needed was a day off.

**Author's Note:**

> This is far from perfect, but I've got to post it so I stop tweaking it and adding even more adverbs. Plus I desperately need to get back to real life :D
> 
> I used to think I was an OK creative writer, but turns out after years of writing nothing but essays I've succumbed to the paralysis of analysis: I can't get more than a line or two of dialogue out without stopping to mull over everyone's thoughts and feelings for half a page. So it is what it is, and there's not really much plot, just a whooooooole lotta feelings.


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